Look At Me
by Rosegolden394
Summary: Rachel Simons just needs to get through Potions class. But he's her favorite professor, and she's got it bad. A oneshot spin-off of Leaving the Stone Nest.


I only want him to look at me.

I don't think my eyes have left his face for one second since I walked into the classroom... hoping to catch his gaze and the split second rush that comes with it. When our eyes lock, even for the tiniest moment, my mouth goes dry, my body is held in place as if awaiting further instruction and I can hear my heart loudly pumping it's blood.

And then he's gone. His dark eyes quickly shift to something else, he glides away from me and I'm left holding onto my desk top exhaling slowly to steady my breath without any of the other students noticing.

There's just something about his stare that commands mental obedience. When I've got that eye contact, I swear to myself then and there I'll do anything in the world if he will just keep looking at me. Look me right in the eye with that assurance and resolute intention that he is never without.

There is no way he doesn't purposefully show it to me. He knows that I'm watching him, waiting for it. Knows it affects me. And strangely, I really don't care. I'm not embarrassed or giggly or playing coy or batting my lashes, I'm only staring back. Silently telling him that I see him, that I won't be one to fold to intimidation, that he doesn't scare me… even though he does, a little.

He's talking about Libatius Borage now. Briefly explaining his accomplishments before going into his weaknesses and mistakes. He's the only teacher who will take apart piece by piece not only the material of your text book, but the author of the book as well. Throwing it's content into the air and then putting it back together in it's pages in a more clarified organized way, for a more in depth and concise explanation.

The girl sitting next to me is raising her hand, and thank the Gods, he's looking this way.

"A question, Miss Stronach?"

I'm not listening to what she's asking, I'm looking right at him and sitting up a little straighter willing him to look at me as he approaches. It's like torture that he isn't... only sneering at the girl as she rambles on.

He's standing in front of our desk now, mere feet from me. I'm having to look up at him a bit, my chest ever so slightly heaving under my blouse. He's answering her as if he's terribly bored or annoyed that he has to be talking to a student at all. Even though I'm staring right at his face, his mouth, I haven't heard a word he's said.

And there it is. His eyes are on me. And I am taken.

"Don't you think so, Miss Simons? Yes, credit should be given where it is due. But that credit given where there is none deserved, is something that should always be called out whenever noticed?"

I feel the electric buzzing in my core and my cheeks flush hot with that sweet adrenaline I feel every time this happens.

Breathe. Relax. The entire class is watching. I haven't the faintest idea what the context of the question is but I seem to be putting my own meaning to it anyway.

"Yes I do. But I also feel it's much more important to make sure someone is praised for their merit than it is to set out to disprove their worthiness. Even the most suspect of people usually have at least a few hidden virtues, for which they deserve to be rewarded."

Don't break eye contact, please. I'm not ready for it to be gone.

An eyebrow very slightly raises, but he doesn't say anything else. He holds my eyes for another beautiful second, and then he turns away. Instructing the class to the page number on which to start our reading.

The girl next to me is looking at me strangely. I need to compose myself but I have been waiting all week for that and I'm right in the middle of feeling it's effects. I close my eyes and replay it in my mind hoping I don't have to wait another 5 days. My imagination is taking over now and I'm envisioning him doing much more than staring and I can feel myself start to lose composure right here in my seat.

But I need to wait. I need to wait until the day is done and I can be alone. Alone with my curtained bed, alone with my own hands, alone with this new memory of his eyes on me, so fresh in my mind.


End file.
